Strawberries
by CD1996
Summary: Neal and Sara finally connect with one another. Slightly AU, but was written to fit somewhere in the events that transpired prior to the end of Season 5. Fluff. Also posted at AO3.


Neal watched as Sara cleared the small bathroom vanity, leaning heavily against the doorframe and nursing a cup of coffee, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the neck and sleeves, rumpled near the bottom where he had tugged the tails from their confines of finely tailored black trousers.

His grin tilted the corners of his mouth and his blue eyes glittered in the glow from the lights; his expression simultaneously stole her breath and made her blush. A knock then sounded at the door to his loft and he told her not to disappear.

Shaking her head while she leaned over to shut off the tub, Sara heard him speaking amiably with one of June's servants, thanking them, in his most charismatic and effortless way. She eyed him suspiciously when he returned, a silver platter balanced with ridiculous poise on his fingertips, a playful smirk pulling at his lips.

Neal cocked an eyebrow as she boldly removed it from his hand, placed it on the bench seat next to the claw foot tub, and straightened to playfully nudge him against the wall. He collapsed against it with a soft 'thud', an unmistakable giggle erupting from his lips before he slid down to the floor. Sara painstakingly lowered herself to straddle his long legs and removed the serving tray's lid with a gentle clang, her manicured fingers dancing across his chest to play with the buttons of his shirt. He sighed as her fingers worked apart the loosened knot of his tie, pulling the silky charcoal fabric over his shoulder and she commented on how all the champagne has gone straight to his head.

That evening, June had reserved the right to hold a small, but lavish, celebration in honor of Neal's success. It was a glorious relief following the uproar of his release and the closing of a few arduous cases that had run him and the whole of the team ragged. Neal much preferred to remain reserved and collected, but as toast after toast was offered on his behalf and Mozzie kept shoving glass after glass of champagne into his hand (promising to make himself 'scarce', later), he was more than a little drunk by the time he'd seen everyone off. He'd thanked June profusely, kissing his genteel benefactor on each cheek as she gazed fondly back at him and told him to think nothing of it, it was her pleasure, all the while throwing furtive glances towards Sara with a mischievous smirk and a jerk of her head towards his upstairs apartment. Neal had actually blushed, ducking his head and managing not to stumble (too obviously) towards the stairs, muttering that he really needed a cup of coffee and perhaps a long shower…

Now, collapsed in a loose-limbed heap on the bathroom floor, Neal's half-lidded eyes were dark, nearly black, the irises dilated beneath the canopy of his dark lashes. He was uncharacteristically malleable in this state, so Sara took advantage, plucking a large, ripe berry from the platter and artfully sweeping it through the dish of cream that accompanied it. She grinned devilishly and leaned over him, bringing it to his lips as his eyes fluttered closed, and he bit down, his tongue leisurely meeting with the fruit between his slightly parted teeth. He hummed with pleasure and licked the remaining cream from his lips, then drew her tapered fingertip into his mouth and gently sucked it clean before she popped the remainder of the crimson berry in her own mouth, leaning over and melding her body against his, their mouths meeting in a deep, languid kiss.

Neal tilted his head to the side, his hands finding their way into the soft strands of her sunset-tinged hair. A groan rose from his throat as her arms found their way between their bodies, her fingernails grazing across his chest as she slowly unclasped each button. His breathing was growing ragged and interspersed with soft, desperate noises as his tongue delved into her mouth. He boldly snaked his hands beneath the sheer fabric of her evening dress, exploring her soft skin, and suddenly ground his hips against hers in an erotic – intentional – lovemaking act. Sara gasped into his mouth with the unexpected jolt of pleasure such a deliberate move elicited, and she wrenched her mouth away in a vain attempt to sit back and catch her breath. But Neal followed, his tongue a searing trail upon her neck as he returned to her mouth, crushing his lips against hers and murmuring how badly he wanted her…

They'd had some enticing dates, stimulating conversations over a shared bottle of wine, exchanged voice messages. Even experienced a fair amount of adventure together. But, since Sara's rise to VP of Operations for Sterling &amp; Bosch, the reinstatement of Neal's original sentence and continued consultant status with the FBI, their schedules had been hectic, at best.

They were both stretched thin, but focused, and when an internal investigation at one of Sterling and Bosch's client companies revealed a substantial case of antiquities fraud, they'd found themselves pleased to have a reason to share more of each others' company. Of course, working together meant they had to keep their hands off of one another – a mutual but frustrating commitment they'd silently agreed upon when they had awkwardly begun their dating ritual again.

The tension had led to one or two rather heated groping sessions that left them breathless and practically imploding with desire, but now, as Neal rolled Sara onto her back, rocking inside of her as they both moaned wantonly – neither one could disagree that the end result was turning out to be well worth the wait. Sara arched into Neal's body, unsure just how many times he'd managed to unravel her now that they'd found the bed, and felt herself drawing near a brink that felt like the largest yet as his hips twisted just _so_. Her head fell back against the pillow, her lean legs drawn up either side of Neal's torso.

She forced her eyes open and was shocked by the undisguised emotion on Neal's face – they'd had some incredible sex in the past, she'd be the first to admit; Neal was decidedly creative in bed and she had a few tricks up her sleeve, too – but right now there was a desperation written in his handsome features that had her reaching for him, whispering even as she tried not to whimper with pleasure…

"Neal, baby…"

His eyes flew open wide as she touched his face, breathed his name – had she ever done that before? – and then his expression twisted, a hopeless whine escaping his throat.

"Sara…" he gasped, his mouth suddenly on hers, "Sara…."

And she realized, then, as she tangled her hands in his thick hair and raised her hips to meet his, answering with an incoherent mewl, that they were connecting on a level they had not quite allowed with one another before. Oh, sure, the food and drink and openness of the evening had stripped Neal of his normally controlled visage. But they truly had been through so very much, separately and together; spoken, unspoken, and everything in between with her sister's demons and Neal's broken past. They'd lain bare quite a bit during some of their long conversations, finding a surprisingly comfortable solace and an intimacy she was suddenly beginning to feel rather poignantly. She didn't want it to end and yet wasn't sure she could handle much more of the unexpected and extreme intensity. Sara felt herself beginning to tense toward the peak of another climax as Neal's thrusts deepened and he moaned and threw his head back, sounding as if he was trying to rein himself in, hold on…

"It's okay, Neal. Let go, please, let go…" she begged, reaching between them to give him a squeeze with one hand and to coax herself along with the other before her vision went white and she pulled him against her, crying out in unmitigated pleasure.

Neal suddenly came with a shout – it wasn't unusual for him to be a little vocal, especially when it was _good _– but this was uncharacteristic abandon, a series of cries and gasps wrung from deep in his chest as he clung to her and she to him, their breathing harsh in the now otherwise disturbingly silent room.

Sara felt herself trembling with aftershocks, or chills, or…something else entirely. She couldn't help it, her hands were in Neal's soft, damp hair again, and they were seeking each other's swollen lips, their kisses punctuated by staccato breaths, their bodies shuddering and coming down together.

"Ah," Neal grunted, his voice thin as she felt him rest his forehead against hers. "I'm dizzy…"

"I told you the champagne went straight to your head," she gasped, unable to truly chide him.

She couldn't seem to let go of him and her body was still trembling and she felt something wet on her face…and damn it all, she was _not_ crying after that…But then as she trailed her hands down to cup Neal's face and offer him a smile, she felt something wet on her palms. She blinked her eyes open as Neal pulled away slightly, gazing back at her with incredulity, his baby blues brimming with emotion he didn't seem sure what to do with.

"I-I'm sorry," he began.

Sara swallowed down an incredulous chuckle, unable to stop herself as she offered his once uttered, "Don't be sorry," right back to him, reaching up to brush his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs, craning her neck for a perfunctory kiss.

Neal stared at her for a few more breaths, searching her face. "Are you all right?"

Sara felt her eyes widen, "Oh, yes." A grin tugged at her lips and she nodded with just a hint of enthusiasm. Her body was still tingling. "Yes." And clenching, by the notion of blissful agony that crossed his face.

She could feel Neal's heart still thudding against her chest, but after a couple of minutes his panting calmed considerably and a satiated little grin played at his lips. "That was nothing short of amazing," he eventually agreed, leaning in and humming when his tongue swept against hers, tasting faintly of coffee and fruit, and…other things unmentionable.

She smiled as he sank into the pillow beside hers, obviously fighting the drowsy blink of his eyes. His fingers were warm as they slid up her arm and she wriggled closer to him, pulling the sheets over them both. Neal was a shameless post-coital snuggler, but her stomach chose that inopportune moment to remind her that dinner had been many, many hours earlier and they'd been…rather active, since then.

"I'm hungry," she murmured plaintively.

Neal's eyes popped open and he stared at her, clearly fighting the urge to whine. "Are you kidding me?"

"I'm hungry," she repeated, not the least bit apologetic. "I want something. And you would do good to put something else in your stomach," she added.

She slipped out of bed, much to his protest, and padded quickly into the bathroom to retrieve his dress shirt. Shrugging it on, because she knew how much wearing it would drive him nuts, she began rifling through his refrigerator for something feasible. She returned to bed a short time later with a tray of warmed-up, leftover biscuits from one of June's breakfasts earlier in the week, butter, jam, and a tumbler of water.

Neal sat back against the headboard with a smile that was sleepy and relaxed, quite content to let her stuff small bits into his mouth in between nibbles of her own – until part of a biscuit crumbled off and landed jam-side-down on his chest. A moment passed in which Neal's eyebrow shot up and Sara bit her lip before their eyes met.

And honestly, was it a coincidence that the only jam she could find in the refrigerator just _happened_ to be strawberry?


End file.
